


renaissance

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Sad Angry Jalters ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: “You deserved the chance to be happy,” she answered, staring off to the summoning platform.  “No one had given you that.”





	renaissance

She knew now, more than ever, that she did not truly exist.

In Orleans, she scrapped at the weak belief that she was someone. It felt real, after all. She could remember Gilles’ face. She could remember the rumble of La Hire’s voice. Jean de Dunois’ back as he pressed forward in the siege. She remembered anger, and pain. Misery, frustration, hopelessness. Resentment, most of all, of how she bled and bled and fought. She couldn’t remember her family, but she could remember the buildings being razed. She could remember the raids, and the rapes of her countrymen. She could taste blood and steel on her lips and tongue.

It felt so real. It felt so natural. She had given up her chance at being a woman. She had given up her chance at being normal. She had given up so much and so much and so much and so much. She could never have a normal life. She could never be married, have a family to take over the gardens where she cried. She had given France everything she had, flesh and blood and hope and love. Her resentment felt so real. Her flesh stung and blistered. Her hate was real.

She was made not born. She did not exist within this universe or the next except as the perverted fantasy of a man she thought she trusted. Even that was a lie now. Jeanne trusted him still. Jeanne loved him still. Jeanne loved still. She couldn’t do any of that. Her heart swelled and blackened and shriveled and twisted. She faded, from Orleans, fated to never be again. Made into this world for only a short time, to be cut down again. She could only feel resentment. She was made to be destroyed. He had betrayed her too.

For awhile, she scrapped and bit and raged in infinite nothingness. Then she became complacent. Drowning in her miserable self, choking on her resentment. It was her fate, unloved by God – someone she tried to deny the existence of. It was what was destined for her but when she heard a call she was only too quick to answer. Anything was better than an eternity of loneliness.

The face who met her was familiar. The Master had hair the color of fire, and summer gold eyes. Her stomach tightened and sank. The irony was too much. To be made again and brought before someone who knows her horrible self. When she opened her mouth, her lips and tongue felt liberated.

“Servant Avenger, I answered your summoning,” She said, and tilted her head backwards. She kept her eyes narrow, posture immaculate. Like this, she couldn’t feel the pebbles of dread forming in her throat. Her Master’s expression was mixed with shock and blankness. Her lips twitched. “Why are you making such a face?” Her hand shot out and grasped her Master’s. The hand burned bright with the brilliant red seal of ownership. “Here is the contract.”

The young woman gave her a flustered expression, “I was just happy that I got to meet you again, Jeanne.”

It was hard to be called that. Innately, she responded to that name. It was hers, as far as she knew. Yet, it made her feel a little sick. Jeanne was – is – a person who did not waver in the face of her adversities. Did not give in to her anger and resentment. Became an icon for an entire nation, became the hope of people she would never meet. She wasn’t Jeanne. She didn’t want to be called by that name.

Ritsuka Fujimaru, however, she made an exception for. She had no real reason to, but she didn’t mind the way it sounded coming out of her mouth. Jeanne – she would say, and look at her as if there would never be any question on who she was referring to. Her Master had an unusual charisma like that. She was a normal magus in every sense of the word, in fact, she was downright subpar in comparison. Yet her eyes spoke novels, and her smiles – despite being so frequent – never lost their color.

Jeanne sighed, leaning against her sword as she stared into the campfire. She didn’t like being brought along on long missions. She didn’t get along with many Servants. They were mostly heroes and the like, so they didn’t have a very fluid cohesion. Yet, her Master insisted that she come. Her eyes pulled up from the fire to the dragon hybrid across from her. Elisabeth Bathory was what she claimed her name was. Based on what she understood, she was after Jeanne’s lifetime, but she wondered if such a being truly existed either.

Elisabeth noticed her stare right away and frowned. “What are you looking at? Even ultra famous idols like me get tired if they’re on tour.” She fanned herself with thick clawed fingers. “Not that it means I’m getting weak, though – just so you know. I could have done this all solo with just my Producer. Stagehands like you just make this easier.”

She didn’t really understand that completely – Elisabeth used a lot of terminology that wasn’t appropriate for her seventeenth century lifetime – but Jeanne could read context. She was being self aggrandizing on top of being completely delusional. Even as a famous person, that Lancer hardly pulled her weight in any of their skirmishes. Jeanne narrowed her eyes at her. “Just hearing your voice is making me sick,” she leaned backwards and held an arrogant posture of her own. Before she could make any argument, however, Ritsuka returned to the campsite.

“No fighting. ” Ritsuka chimed, with Atalanta behind her carrying a freshly killed deer. The huntress pulled the body closer to the firelight and sat down – no doubt preparing to butcher it for their supper. “It’s been a long day, so I had Archer help me get some meat for dinner. We’re almost done, so let’s keep our mood high, alright?”

“Fi – ne,” Lancer shouted out in response folding her arms over her chest. All it took for their Master to speak and nearly all of them became pacified. It reminded Jeanne of ‘herself.’ She was someone who could do that too. Inspire loyalty and fraternity. Soothe hearts and bring forth valiance. She stared at her Master, Ritsuka, as she assisted the huntress in breaking down the animal.

Even to her eyes, she could tell how inexperienced and sloppy Ritsuka was at it. Her cuts were too shallow and her arms didn’t separate the hide from flesh precisely. The patience Atalanta carried while her Master assisted her was one that was earned. Her ears would quirk slightly when Ritsuka struggled, and lips purse momentarily. She didn’t say anything but repeating the procedure.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to work harder if I’m going to do this for everyone,” Ritsuka laughed meekly, smearing blood on her cheek thoughtlessly. “But I’ll get it right. Everyone works hard, so I…”

She mumbled the rest to herself, brow pinched in. It was that kind of personality that made all shapes and sizes want to work with her. A kind of self awareness that made others feel supported. Jeanne closed her eyes and frowned. She didn’t want to get swept up in a person like that. It felt wrong.

Something cool pressed against her cheek, and she realized time had passed. Had she fallen asleep while waiting for the meat to be butchered and cooked? Ritsuka held a bottle of water against her cheek, holding a dish of roasted deer in her other hand. “Jeanne, you should eat while the food is hot.”

Jeanne scowled. “If I’m asleep you shouldn’t bother me,” despite that, she took the bottle of water and drank. It was a habit of her Master’s to carry purified water from Chaldea. While the rest of them wouldn’t have a problem with the water from different eras, Ritsuka was just a human. Her lips tightened when she realized the taste.

As if reading her mind, Ritsuka sat down beside her and offered the dish. “You fell asleep so quickly, I was a little worried. Make sure to drink some clean water and eat, okay?” If Ritsuka ever really listened to Jeanne’s anger and threats, she never showed it. She never even felt threatened by her presence despite Jeanne calling her filthy.

Jeanne didn’t want to get swept up in a person like that. But it was hard when they were so insistent. “You’re really intent on being beheaded, you know,” Jeanne replied, taking the plate back. She didn’t even need to bite into the venison to know it had a good flavor – while Ritsuka wasn’t particularly skilled at butchery, she had a good sense for seasoning and flavor. The gamey flavor wasn’t overpowering, and the cook was even throughout the filet. Ritsuka had cooked it herself, with special care.

It frustrated her. Not for any other particular reason other that she really enjoyed it. 'Jeanne' was special to so many people, and she had decided she was fine with being different. Always seeking out the opposite. Jeanne wasn't real, so she was nothing to anyone. She was confident in that, almost proud of it. She was defining herself. So, it irritated her to long for the admiration of others. It defeated her own purpose. She didn't want to be 'her.' She wasn’t ‘her.’ But her Master didn’t seem to see that – or rather, she saw that part of herself that wasn’t entirely hers.

She felt her loathing become more intense when ‘Jeanne’ was summoned. The original her, in the flesh, in all her purity. Her shining blue eyes, unclouded by doubt and hate, and her flag of the gold fleur-de-lis. It made bile rise in her throat. Undoubtedly, her Master would click with her right away. They were both such goody-two-shoes that they would just pile upon each other. Her heart roared with emptiness and resentment. Jeanne Alter was plagued by a great loneliness.

She had fully expected to be forgotten. Passed away once the original had arrived. She didn’t think of herself as inferior, per say, but she was someone who experienced betrayal. Her Master would not put her on a stake and burn her, she knew. She wouldn’t get released from her bounds and returned to the Throne of Heroes, but she had expected that the trash she left behind would get picked up again. ‘Jeanne’ was a person people loved, who was special to them. It was only natural.

“What kind of face is that?” Ritsuka laughed, and fearlessly touched either side of Jeanne’s face. Her fingers are hot and soft, and she is miserable to enjoy them so much. “Are you that surprised I called you to my side?”

Her lips twitched, and she ripped her head from Ritsuka’s hands. “You usually find trash in the same place,” she answered hotly. She’s overjoyed, honestly. Like a weight had been lifted from her chest. “I guess that you used your better judgment.”

Like always, it seems barbs just slid off her Master’s skin like water. “You were the one I wanted to meet, after all,” Ritsuka laughed, and rubbed the back of her neck. “Your skill set is always perfect for my strategies anyway. My dragon witch is the cornerstone of my power. You’re my Excalibur, Jeanne.” She looked awful confident when she said that. Her eyes bright and strong.

Lumps formed in her throat, and Jeanne felt her face grow hot. It must have been in her Master’s nature to be such a flirt. “Of course, my strength is unrivaled,” she tried to sound more confident, but Ritsuka was in control of most of that. Silence filled the space between them, and questions gnawed at the tip of Jeanne’s tongue. “You wanted to meet me more than ‘me.’”

Ritsuka rubbed the command seal on her hand. There was still more summoning to do before the mission, but she stopped. “You deserved the chance to be happy,” she answered, staring off to the summoning platform. “No one had given you that.”

“Jeanne had many times in her life that she was happy,” her black heart twisted. She knew it wasn’t an appropriate answer, but she was desperate to soil her image of Ritsuka. By now, she was almost afraid of what might come.

“You are Jeanne, not ‘Jeanne.’” Ritsuka answered extending her hand out, the summoning platform responding to her command. “Just because ‘you’ were happy, doesn’t make you happy. You deserve the chance to be happy, Jeanne.”

It made her furious. It made her disgusted. She didn’t want to be saved. She didn’t want to be redeemed. Whatever she thought Ritsuka wanted to do, she didn’t want it. Her eyes stung as she focused on her Master’s back. Upright, and unfettered. ‘She’ had been like that. Who was she to approach Jeanne acting like that person? Her Master didn’t seem to understand her outrage, looked past it, with a glance over her shoulder. What did she hope to accomplish like this?

After all this time, she had become comfortable with herself. With being unhappy, with being bitter and unreasonable. She had accepted that this was her and not anyone else. ‘She’ could not even conceive this black path. ‘She’ could not be her. Her hate, her fury, her burning breaking skin that just filled her with more and more misery. No redemption, no saving. She didn’t want that. She had been – comfortable.

“You came back to Chaldea with us?”

Bruised, winded and sweaty, Ritsuka doesn’t bother to look at Jeanne when she spoke. She ran a hand through her hair, and removed the surcoat from her uniform. Her nonchalance left a nasty bitterness in Jeanne’s mouth. Like what she had said earlier wasn’t something to care about or remark upon. Her hand shot out and grasped Ritsuka by the back of her shirt.

“I don’t know what you want,” Jeanne said, and she tried not to notice the tremble in her fist. “Praise, thanks, sex – you’re an idiot for wanting whatever it is, but I just don’t know what.”

Ritsuka rolled her neck and peeked over her shoulder. “I honestly, really, just want you to be happy,” her tone was genuine enough to make Jeanne sick. However, she flashed a smile. “Though, truth be told, if I could make you happy and you were happy with me then I’d prefer that.” There was an honest selfishness in her voice, unafraid of what she had to say. “If you fell for me, and that made you happy. That’s what I want.”

Jeanne looked at her fist caught on Ritsuka’s shirt. “You’re an idiot, a filthy cur,” she chewed on each word, and knit her brow together. “I’ll burn you to ash and drag every trace of you to hell with me.”

Every instinct in her body demands that she reject the affection. Every ounce of her soul, black and mangled, told her to force it away. Let go of Ritsuka’s shirt, don’t answer her summons – reach out and cut the head from her body. Everyone who has put their faith in her had turned on her. They had raised her up, awed her flag. Heralded her coming. Then they lied, they sold her out, they trapped her in a prison and made lies. They put her on a stake, so high that the executioner could not reach her throat, and let her burn.

Her jaw was sore from clenching her teeth and her hand was shuddering without her permission. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t even a person. She was Gilles’ fantasy, wrapped up in a flesh prison. She wasn’t a true facet of ‘Jeanne.’ She wasn’t even real. What was the point in pursuing someone so desperately that didn’t want to be saved, that didn’t want to be loved or praised or admired anymore? She was evil. She wanted to kill people for revenge, and wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it.

“That’s fine,” Ritsuka laughed easily. “That part of you is likable also.”

Jeanne does not think about little things like modesty and purity. Being virginal or not, or saving herself for the right person. What felt appropriate at the time was to take the front of her Master’s shirt and pull her into a kiss. Ritsuka doesn’t resist, but rather encouraged it. Her lips were dry from their mission, but hot and sweet. She motioned, opening her lips enough for Jeanne to understand the request on reflex.

Whatever they were doing there was raw and animal. The culmination of months of tension, lustful, selfish stares that were unnoticed or private. Jeanne unshyly played the aggressor, teeth and tongue, hoping vainly that her feelings would bleed away in this action. Despite her hope, the more she tasted the more she craved. She had been comfortable, she was still comfortable. But she wanted more. Jeanne parted from Ritsuka’s lips to trail down her jaw. The slightest bit of skin was exposed above her collar along her neck, and Jeanne attacked it.

A cry of pain, far too sensual to be genuine, escaped her Master as Jeanne bit her. She sucked and chewed until she was satisfied before drawing back. Nestled beneath her jaw and above her collar was a mark. It wasn’t the first time she injured someone, it wasn’t even the first time she had injured Ritsuka, but it was the first time she did it for selfish reasons. She released her grip of her Master’s shirt and brushed her fingers against the broken skin.

“If you’re honest about what you say,” Jeanne said, pulling the collar down further. “You’ll show all your Servants and allies how you feel. Who you chose.”

Without losing eye contact, Ritsuka reached up and undid the top buttons of her collar. “Will that please you?”

Jeanne eyed the mark, “we’ll see.”

With Ritsuka’s amicable attitude, she wasn’t surprised to see the mark on full display the first day. She had the kind of confidence that would brave her way through something at first. Jeanne stuck around Chaldea to gauge the reaction. Overwhelmingly, the Chaldea staff displayed subdued disappointment in varying degrees. The doctor displayed concern, disgust, disappointment. He was able to see the event take place through the monitors. Da Vinci was along the same thread. More curious than anything else. She saw the feed too, and was waiting to see what would come next.

Mash was more concerned than anything else. Goody-two-shoes like her always saw the worst in things, and her ‘senpai’ getting involved with a unabashedly evil servant. True to her class, she became protective. Immediately, Jeanne could not be alone with Ritsuka. Mash kept quiet distance, even with Ritsuka’s assurances that it wasn’t any trouble. She glanced over her shoulder at Jeanne, the blackening mark on her neck, and presented a challenge.

She wore it exposed on following days as well. Her uniform undone in such a way that the very edges of the bruise could be seen. This presented something odd. Jeanne could see the interactions Ritsuka had with her other servants. The cruel reality of having their Master forcibly taken was hard on many of them – their awe and adoration crumbled knowing that Ritsuka not just was attacked but lusted after it. Their crestfallen expressions trembled through to Jeanne’s soul and sank between her legs.

Their Master was hers now. Everyone coveted her, but only Jeanne had her. Not ‘Jeanne’ but Jeanne. Scorn and jealousy spread like a tiny candle light which grew, in some instances, into an ugly flame. All the while, unfettered, Ritsuka explained the situation calmly. Remarkably, of course, because when she made eye contact again with Jeanne, her expression was nothing short of ravenous.

“I won’t betray you,” Ritsuka said, her eyes hot. “I’ll do just as you ask until you’re satisfied.”

Her Master said things like that, with her fingers against the bite upon her neck. Jeanne wished she could be satisfied with that. Yet, in her heart, she knew she was unconvinced. Not while ‘she’ was there. Not while they had the same face and voice. Not while ‘she’ looked at Ritsuka with clear, kind eyes. Not while ‘she’ did nothing in the face of Jeanne’s blatant show of ownership.

‘She’ exists and so she will never feel complete.

That’s why when Jeanne saw them speaking together again, something in her snapped. Driven by her fear of betrayal and jealousy, she inserted herself in the group. Whatever they were talking about, it was pointless. ‘Jeanne’ enjoyed her Master’s company too much. She didn’t want to give her up. Pulling her forward, Ritsuka eyes fluttered in surprise. She might’ve tried to say something, but Jeanne cut her off. With her mouth caught open, she was able to press her tongue inside. Hot, consuming – she let it linger just long enough before breaking free, turning her gaze to the stunned ‘reflection’ in front of her.

“Come, Master, I have decided to give you the cunt you’re desiring.”

Filled with almost a shuddering satisfaction, Jeanne took to Ritsuka’s private room. There behind the closed door, she was met with the greatest prize. The Master that was hers. The Master that would not betray her. The Master that would accompany her to the burning depths of hell. Someone she could trust – perhaps the first person she could ever trust. Ritsuka shed each article of clothing, as if capable of reading Jeanne’s mind, until she was left in her bra and sheer black pantyhose.

Her body was hardly the definition of perfect. Her figure wasn’t particularly dramatic, and her breasts weren’t particularly large. She had a peppering of bruises and old cuts along her body from her missions. Her neck was blemished with a now fading bruise. For Jeanne – that was perfection of itself. Having shed her gauntlets, she ran her bare hand through Ritsuka’s hair and gently gripped her scalp.

“With the way you’ve been looking at me, I’m sure you know what to do,” Jeanne propped the arch of her foot against the frame of Ritsuka’s bed and pushed downwards. Her Master went down on her knees. In this position, she knew that beneath her skirt, her cunt was wet with desire. Her panties, even, must be soaked through. “Just – hurry up.”

Tentatively, Ritsuka’s tongue pressed between her lips through the fabric. Then, with more effort, her mouth caught her panties and pulled them aside. Each of her movements was done with care to avoid using her hands, as if she were bound and incapable. Somehow, that base desperation only left Jeanne more excited. When her nose and mouth finally became buried into her pussy, Jeanne’s self control had completely gone out the window.

Her fingers clawed at Ritsuka’s skull, thrusting her hips against her Master’s face as she worked. She began to laugh. “If only your beloved Servants knew what a whore you were,” Jeanne giggled, each word acting like a rush between her legs. “You just got on your knees and let me fuck your face. And they think you’re so sweet and flawless.”

She came quickly and fiercely – more importantly, though, without full satisfaction. Jeanne groaned, awash with sensitivity, and pulled Ritsuka back to breathe. “I’m a whore,” Ritsuka stuttered breathlessly. “But yours.”

A sort of fury surfaced in Jeanne’s chest. She was frustrated to be treated so kindly. She was elated to be loved. She was furious to be spoken back to when things were just perfect for her. She thrust Ritsuka none too gently against the floor, kneeling against the ground to press her weight against her face. “Shut up!” She snapped, hands seeking out each breast as she rode Ritsuka’s face. “Of course you’re mine! I own you!”

With the rolling of her hips, she could grind her clit anywhere she wanted on Ritsuka’s face without trouble. Over sensitivity kept her orgasm at bay, but the full feeling of control was enough to make up for the wait. Her hands pinched at her nipples, and she gritted her teeth to suppress a moan. “You’re mine alone – you’ll never,” she sighed and moaned, unable to finish her statement.

Her eyes stung from tears that prickled forth. She felt her body tremble from another climax, leaving her feel more empty than before. Jeanne pulled away from Ritsuka, and rubbed her eyes. It was too sudden to hide, and the squeezing in her throat couldn’t be trusted to speak. Hate pilled in her stomach. She couldn’t even do this much – her heart couldn’t be persuaded to be as unaffected as she would like to be.

“Jeanne,” Ritsuka called. She hated when people called her just that. She really did – but whenever her Master said it, she felt more real. She tried to force her throat to open, but with no luck. “Did you get your answer?”

Jeanne bit the inside of her lips. “You pig,” she spoke through her teeth. “Don’t act so important. Sex is nothing.” That’s what she had believed anyway. It was just something humans did – they fucked and they killed. That being said, she couldn’t even look at her Master in the face. Up until that point she had felt hollow, but it never hurt so sharply.

She wanted to feel real, like she wasn’t a stand-in for something. Like she wasn’t just the figment of a demented man’s fantasy. Like she wasn’t an aberration created by a misused Grail. Jeanne could take advantage of Ritsuka’s interest in her and get a few quick fucks but she didn’t feel filled by that. She was overwhelmed by self-loathing. It should’ve been very simple to dominate and get off.

Ritsuka’s cheek pressed against the center of Jeanne’s back. Through the cloth and chain, she could somehow feel her. “Yeah, sex is sex.” She laughed easily. Jeanne’s stomach eased slightly, feeling more grounded. “Sex isn’t the thing that’s bothering you.”

“You’re so irritatingly persistent,” Jeanne sighed, and she felt a comfortable irritation settling in her chest. If she closed her eyes, nothing was different. It was just her incompetent Master. They were fighting – playing hard to get, really. That was their dynamic. “You’re going to get burned.”

The silence was heavy enough to make Jeanne’s frown tighten. “You don’t know when to quit. Even if I were to love you, what good would that do?” Her cheeks were flush but she managed to avoid stammering. “I’m not a true Servant. I never existed in Jeanne. I’m – an evil witch. I couldn’t love you completely like she could either.”

“You were the one I wanted to meet most of all,” Ritsuka said between kisses pressed on the back of Jeanne’s neck, “because, somehow, you were more real than she could ever be.” The words punctuated by soft kisses sent shivers down her spine. Her Master slowly undressed her from behind, taking each piece of armor off her body with care. “You felt betrayed, you were injured, you were marked by years of service. You stood upright, with memories of someone else, and acted in a way that a human would.”

Stripped down to her underwear, Jeanne turned her head to the side catching her Master’s lips. An aching resentment still lingered in her chest, but somehow, that didn’t hurt. “How dare you come here and try and complete my hatred,” her accusation was dispassionate, as if she were more relieved than anything else. “It’s too late for miracles.”

Ritsuka’s hands slid across her torso and upwards, cupping Jeanne’s ample breasts. “I honestly mean what I’ve said. I want you to be happy.” She massaged her gently before providing a strong squeeze. “But I’d prefer it if I could make you happy.”

Words were no longer needed. Jeanne cautiously surrendered as Ritsuka touched her. It had been what she was wanting, but not the way she envisioned it. Her breaths came out in sighs as her Master teased and squeezed her breasts, making her tremble and want for more. Against the nape of her neck, Ritsuka ran her teeth, not so much to even hurt but to confuse her senses. Her hands drifted beneath the fabric of her bra, and her nails pinched and scraped at her nipples.

The fingers moved thoughtfully, like a calligraphers pen, tracing patterns around her sensitive tips. Her breath hitched every time her thumbs rose up to squeeze. It left her eager and hungry, and thoughtlessly, she began to rub her thighs together in anticipation. She hadn’t realized she was doing it until one of Ritsuka’s hands slid down her stomach and against them.

Her heart beat in her ears. It was so foolish. She had just been sitting on the woman’s face, but somehow the silent intimacy made her feel bashful. Somehow, the possessive hold on her from behind made her feel more secure. Once again, Ritsuka intended to tease her. With her middle finger, she traced the line between Jeanne’s thighs, drawing circles and symbols on them until she reached the crux.

Jeanne shuddered a breath, face burning. They had done this not once but twice already, but excitement built up like knots in her stomach. Her tongue felt heavy, and her arousal was greater than it had been before. Ritsuka ghosted a kiss on the lobe of her ear before sinking her hand between Jeanne’s thighs. Even the idle brushing of her hand shot sparks of pleasure to Jeanne’s eyes and a noise similar to a whine escaped her.

Pleading, begging, she didn’t want to beg so she let the noise leave her. Ritsuka smiled into her shoulder, and she teased Jeanne’s wet lips with the same techniques. This time, though, she was more willing to drag her nails across her. Jeanne’s hips twitched as she grew impatient. Her persistence was rewarded as Ritsuka pressed her fingers into her folds. A quiet groan of pleasure broke the silence.

Ample force was used to pull and press her, and even though her movement was as predictable as the ebb and flow of waves, pleasure brought Jeanne gooseflesh. She was painfully slow, yet somehow too rough, making Jeanne slowly roll her hips to draw more. Her back arched, and her hands split between clawing at Ritsuka’s arm between her legs and raking her nails through her Master’s hair.

Her breath grew ragged. It was becoming unbearable to be at that pace. Even with her hips moving, it wasn’t quite enough. Her fingers tightened around locks of Ritsuka’s hair and pulled. Fluidly, her hand adjusted and her fingers laced around Jeanne’s aching clit. She could almost weep in relief, her lust finally being satiated. She rocked her hips harder, trying to eek out every ounce of pleasure that she could. For fear of Ritsuka returning to her previous pace, she didn’t let go of the clump of hair in her hand. Instead, her other hand dug small holes in Ritsuka’s arm.

“Do it,” she demanded hoarsely. “Don’t st – op.”

Honestly, she knew what she should’ve been expecting, yet she wasn’t prepared. Ritsuka’s free arm held her in a tight embrace, while the other sped up considerably. Even when she jumped, she couldn’t move. Jeanne whimpered, feeling whole. Her Master’s fingers traced along her clit, in careful control of her movements. It only took a few caresses and a squeeze before Jeanne began drowning in orgasm. She pulled Ritsuka’s hair, she sputtered profanities, but mainly – Jeanne felt complete.

Her heart wasn’t healed by any stretch of the imagination. She was angry, empty and bitter. Jeanne released her Master as her energy was sapped from her limbs. She found an answer to a few questions. Questions she hadn’t intended to ask.

“Thank you,” Jeanne said hesitantly. Her ears burned. After all this sex, the one thing she was feeling shy about was the talk of love they had earlier. On second thought, Ritsuka had never said that word so clearly. She glanced over her shoulder at her smug looking Master. “You know, what we were talking about earlier. About the, you know, l-love…”

Ritsuka beamed, “I love you too, Jeanne.”

“I didn’t say something like that!” Her nerves were already irritated. Blushing, she looked away again. What kind of idiot just leaps to that? She tried to rub the embarrassment from her face, but she only felt herself grow hotter. “You’re the one always spouting this ‘fall for me’ nonsense. What kind of idiot would fall for you anyway?”

Her Master just laughed, “didn’t you, though?”

Jeanne put her face in her hands. Heat rose from her ears. “I didn’t!”

**Author's Note:**

> the much requested jalter fic. i got a little carried away  
> feel free to yell at me at my tumblr: [here](http://ashforge.tumblr.com/)


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